


So Maybe I Love You

by Cant_We_Just_Dance



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Accidental Love Confessions, Alcohol, Drinking, M/M, Modern AU, Pining, They're lawyers, This is my half of an art trade with styxetal on tumblr, Tiny tiny Great Comet reference, Too Many Metaphors, like seriously, too many - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 13:54:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11715732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cant_We_Just_Dance/pseuds/Cant_We_Just_Dance
Summary: If one were to condense the out-of-control mess known as Alexander Hamilton into a singular word, it would not be ‘intimidating’. And yet, that was all Thomas felt that the man was whenever he looked at him. Whether it be a glance, or a brief glimpse of him in the corner of his eye, or when Alexander spoke with cutting words at meetings- the feeling of intimidation washed over Thomas like the waves on the shore of the shorter man’s homeland.Thomas is in love with the crashing storm of Alexander, but he risks being torn down if ever dared to admit such a thing.My half of an art/fic trade with @styxetal on tumblr!





	So Maybe I Love You

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this is @jamisahivemind from tumblr! Make sure to comment, kudos, and hang out with me over on the hellsite!
> 
> This work is part of a collaboration/trade with @styxetal on tumblr, and I highly suggest you go check out their art!

If one were to condense the out-of-control mess known as Alexander Hamilton into a singular word, it would not be ‘intimidating’. And yet, that was all Thomas felt that the man was whenever he looked at him. Whether it be a glance, or a brief glimpse of him in the corner of his eye, or when Alexander spoke with cutting words at meetings- the feeling of intimidation washed over Thomas like the waves on the shore of the shorter man’s homeland.

No matter how he tried, or how many times Thomas practiced his words in front of the mirror at home, whenever he attempted to speak to Alexander his mind short-circuited so severely that the only thing he could manage to get out was an insult or derogatory comment of some kind. He’d been getting slightly better though- just last week he had walked past Alexander making coffee in the break room and smiled at him, and, surprisingly enough, Alexander nodded at him, focused on the task at hand.

Small victories were still victories, he supposed. Because even if every time Alexander’s thunderstorm-clouded eyes met Thomas’s broken tree branch ones, his heart skipped a beat, shooting down his spine like crackling lighting in the slightest hint of fear. His eyes watered at the very thought of admitting what he felt for Alex, his mind soaking up the rainwater of Alexander’s gorgeous hurricane swirling thoughts, spiralling into his eyes.

But with a storm like Alexander Hamilton, Thomas couldn’t risk standing out in the open, allowing the winds of his rough voice to caress his curls and press sweet kisses of stray leaves against his cheeks. He would never be able to stare up at the sky and whisper every fragment of a dream he’d hoped for with Alexander until each and every part settled into their hearts. That was far too dangerous, though.

Thomas knew that he needed to shelter his thoughts, hide them down in the deepest darkest part of his mind that he would never dare return to willingly or if he needed refuge whenever stormclouds began to form on the horizon. The cotton-candy like texture of the formations was sweet enough to pull him in at the slightest indication of reciprocated feelings, only to be blown away by his own stupidity at the very idea that a storm like Alexander could do anything other than tear him out of the ground by the roots and toss him about if he ever tried something so foolish.

So instead of stepping out into the world, waltzing in the salty rain of his own tears, and kissing the sky, Thomas remained silent on the issue. No one had to know that the most intensely brilliant storm ever formed was headed their way, not if they had already tucked away each easily shattered dream for another day. A day where the sky would be blue, without a single cloud. A day where you could almost kiss the sky, if only you were able to climb up to the very highest tree branch. 

But that day would never come. So there was no use of dreaming anymore.

Alexander had never been present in his dreams- not truly. Yes, Thomas had witnessed his fair share of hurricanes that tore through towns as if they were pages of a well-written plan, but that was not Alexander. Because Alexander was so much more than a vague figure in his dreams, composed of fragmented hopes and sewn together with overheard conversations that he certainly was not meant to overhear.

If Alexander was the moonlight, shining iridescent on Thomas as he awoke late at night from a rather awful nightmare, then Thomas knew that he, himself, must be the stars. Glowing ever so slightly, and dotting the night sky with wasted wishes. Dancing amongst the midnight as they prepared to lay in silence under the bright cloak of day. Alexander was the moonlight, and Thomas was the starlight, attempting to steal away the efforts of his brilliance. 

As he sat up from his bed, tossing his covers aside, he looked over at his open window, a light summer breeze flowing through the curtains and causing them to calmly sway in a rare type of evening two-step dance that very few are conscious enough to bear witness to. The milky white glow of the moonlight was the only thing to illuminate the room, barely enough to cast a soft shimmer onto Thomas’s starry eyes, hidden by cloudy curls of dark hair.

Sighing softly, Thomas realized that due to the rather intense quality of his nightmare would prevent him from falling under the blissful cloak of sleep once more. So, he did what any responsible adult would do and stood up, walked to the kitchen, and poured himself a rather full glass of bourbon.

The kitchen windows were shut, but still allowed much of the night sky to shine through onto the freezing cold tile floor of Thomas’s kitchen. He picked up his glass and bottle of alcohol and headed to his study, content to drink his worries away there, and perhaps not be in such a rush to prepare himself for work the next day, since he would already be right in front of his laptop, files, and briefcase. Taking sips from his glass as he walked down the hallway, he neglected to turn on any of the lights, confident in his ability to walk through his home with only the lights of the midnight sky to show him the way.

Eventually, after a few nearly disastrous falls, Thomas pulled open the door to his home office and stepped in, taking in a deep breath just for a moment. In that moment, the familiar-almost comforting- scents of ink and old paper surrounded him, clearing his mind of the last bit of fogginess that his slumber had left him with. He took a long swig of the bourbon in his glass and took his time walking across the room and into his swivel chair in front of the desk. 

As he sat down in the well-worn cushioned chair, he sighed in relief and set the bottle onto the desk in front of him, continuing to take sips of the amber liquid that was slowly seeping through the cracks in his mind and melding together past and present, muddling Thomas’s fine motor skills and turning him into a much mellower, gigglier version of himself.

Small bubbles of laughter began to push their way through Thomas’s chest and up out of his mouth, laughing at a joke no one had heard- not even himself. The alcohol in his glass threatened to spill at times, which was quickly fixed by taking another sip. He repeated such an action over and over until the glass had only a few drops left inside it, causing Thomas to pour himself another glass, and set the bottle a bit further to his left once he was done- even while slightly buzzed, he knew his limits, especially on a work night.

However, once he set down the bottle, he noticed that his laptop had none of the usual lights on the side that were usually glowing, signifying things such as being connected to the internet, or being plugged in. Thomas sighed quietly as he realized his mistake, and quickly picked up the charger and plugged his laptop in, setting his cup aside and opening the laptop, hitting the power button to make sure there was nothing wrong.

The light of the startup screen shone into Thomas’s eyes, and he, not quite used to light at the moment, pulled back and covered his eyes, groaning at the slight burning sensation that came from such a dramatic, sudden flash of light. After a few moments, he pulled his hands away from his eyes and opened them slowly, blinking multiple times as to adjust as best he could. Soon enough, the screen wasn’t too blurry to read, and a small red circle was on the corner of his mail icon, informing him that he had unread emails- three, specifically.

Taking another small sip of bourbon, he shrugged tiredly and clicked on the icon, figuring that he had nothing better to do and might as well clear out his inbox. As soon as the computer tab opened and the three emails were visible, Thomas quickly noticed a trend- they were all sent by none other than Alexander Hamilton, at an hour that no rational human being would willingly be awake during. Rolling his eyes at what was most likely an error-riddled rant from Hamilton about some case he was working on, or some policy he was attempting to have passed, Thomas opened the first two emails and began to read.

His assumptions were correct, for the most part. The two documents he’d been sent were ones he had sent to Hamilton a few days before, this time with multiple things replaced, commented on, and ‘corrected’ in sloppy late-night typing. As he read on, he began to notice Alexander’s words becoming more and more misspelt, as if he was high on some substance that a teenager would hide under their mattress so that their parents couldn’t find it.

He opened the third email, expecting much of the same thing, only for his eyes to widen slightly in shock at the contents of what Alexander had sent him. There, in plain English, was some sort of messed-up form of a love letter from Alexander Hamilton, the trash king himself. It was evident that Hamilton was as tired as Thomas at the time of writing such a thing, and was likely even moreso intoxicated. 

Nearly every other word was misspelled or used incorrectly, but that wasn’t what mattered, not to Thomas. What mattered was that over the course of the letter, Alexander called him ‘kute’ two times, ‘prety’ four times, and told him that he’d wanted to kiss Thomas since ‘jusst abt 4evr’.  
Unsure of what else to do, Thomas eyed his bourbon suspiciously, pushing it away ever so slightly and turning off his laptop and stumbling over to his bedroom, collapsing onto his soft sheets and quickly falling into a dreamless sleep- a rare occurrence when such a beautiful moonlit storm such as Alexander was present in his mind.

Dreamless sleeps had always been particularly peculiar to Thomas, for they never matched up to other people’s descriptions of them. He did not simply close his eyes and open them to find that it was morning once more, as many others had described. For him, it was like falling.

The dark caresses of wind across his body as it carried him away from whatever troubles the day had brought him, wiping the slate clan like a blank chalkboard until his chocolate curls melted into sweet rhythms of a song he could never quite feel the birds sing as he flew with them. And just before he could reach out, try and navigate his surroundings and open his eyes to explore what he had only ever known as inky blackness, he woke up.

Shrill ringing erupted from his alarm clock, and he groaned at the intensity of the volume, coupled with a slight hangover nagging at the back of his mind like scratchy lace. He pulled a pillow from his side, and placed it over his ears, momentarily forgetting how to turn off the sound. After he realized that a pillow wouldn’t work, he threw it off the bed and sat up, rubbing his eyes tiredly and reaching over to press the ‘off’ button on his alarm clock, sighing in relief as he was embraced by the calm silence of morning, surrounding him with the blissful comfort that one always knows will depart far too soon for their liking.

Yawning tiredly, he stood up from his bed, and walked with uneven footing over to his bathroom to take a quick shower and hopefully reduce the smell of bourbon that clouded around him, faint like candle smoke, yet still enough to cause one a certain level of discomfort. He turned the water onto as hot a setting he could withstand without being scalded, and quickly set to work removing any traces of his late night only a handful of hours earlier.

Once he was finished, he stepped out into his room, the familiar scent a sudden switch from the warm, steamy air he’d been surrounded by just moments ago. He walked over to his dresser, slightly wet feet leaving drops of water on the white shag carpeting of his room, which happened to be entirely spotless, excluding a small spot covered by his nightstand that had been stained during a night with just the smallest bit too much beer.

He quickly selected a more subtly colored suit than usual, a grey one with a magenta dress shirt and silver tie, and put it on as quickly as possible while trying to to make any sudden movements that would worsen the slight headache he was enduring. The stark boldness of his shirt color contrasted nicely to his suit, like a blob of acrylic magenta paint splattered onto silver, melting down into a uniform shape as watercolor began to seep in.

Striding over to his kitchen, the liquor cabinet’s door still ajar, be began to make coffee. Pouring the dark grounds into precise measurements as fine as sand on a beach soaked in midnight, waves washing over it in erratic patterns until it was poured out into a mug and swirled in with a caramel-flavored creamer to dilute the intensity of the darkness. Thomas picked up the now full mug and took a sip, scowling and pulling back from it as the dark liquid burnt his tongue. Licking his lips in small effort to reduce the pain, he decided on going to his office instead of idly standing by as he waited for his coffee to cool down.

As soon as he set foot in his home office, memories of bright screens and dark bourbon from last night washed over him, sending shockwave shivers down his spine. Nearly dropping his coffee in haste, he ran over to his laptop and turned it on, to make sure that last night hadn’t been some strange sort of dream. A quick check proved his recollection of the previous night to be entirely true. 

His mind began to swirl, uncertainty into the disturbing sort of clarity one falls into after waking up and taking a few steps. Words blurred together and he fought to keep his eyes open, keep reading the email, keep feeling his heart pound like an erratic rock song drum beat. A drum beat to a melody no one in their right mind would play along to, in a time signature found only in the oddest sort of music. Screeching symphonies lost to time swirling through his mind in a mess of broken violins and mangled flutes, amalgamating in burnt sheet music in effort to scorch it off the face of the earth.

Running a hand through his curls anxiously, Thomas turned off his laptop and gathered his papers that he’d require for the day, not bothering to clean up the empty glass and bourbon bottle from earlier, choosing instead to allow them to remain in the morning sunshine, spattering small rainbows onto the desk.

SIpping his coffee periodically, Thomas placed his documents in his briefcase, and since he had a computer at work, left his laptop on his desk, the lights blinking softly. As soon as he was finished, he placed the empty mug in the sink and headed to work, the heat of his car stuffy and unwelcoming, as per usual on summer mornings. Flipping a switch to turn on the air conditioning, he began to drive along to work, his briefcase on the passenger side seat.

New York City had traffic that was seemingly its own nation. Bright yellow cabs buzzed by, proudly displaying ads for some movie or TV show that Thomas could care less about. The borders of the road seemingly stretched on forever, twisting and turning, hidden behind skyscrapers that reached up towards the clouds that had mixed with smoke rising from the speeding cars below. Empty stretches of road were rare, especially at this hour in the morning, and the weight of being entirely surrounded by others fell onto his shoulders, and he leaned forward slightly in effort to alleviate some of the discomfort that had settled upon his mind.

His curls hung loose in front of him, small dark spots clouding his vision as he tried to push away thoughts of a certain type of storm that he longed for in dreams beneath the moonlight, dancing amongst the stars in his eyes. Eventually, but not soon enough for his taste, Thomas arrived at the office building, steering into the parking garage and taking one of the few spaces that wasn’t already occupied. He parked, picked up his briefcase, and swung the car door open, relieved to find that the concrete parking garage was just as cool in temperature as his car, instead of the humid heat of the outside world.

Thomas locked his car and ran over to the elevator, hoping to get to it before anyone so that he wouldn’t be subjected to the sort of awkward small-talk where neither person is truly awake enough to care about anything that is said. Unfortunately, as soon as he stepped foot into the elevator, James walked through the doors and stood beside him as Thomas hit the button for their floor. 

“Good morning, Thomas,” James spoke idly as they began to feel the elevator lift them up through the building. James’s voice was hoarse, as always, most likely due to his near-constant various illnesses and allergies. It was easy for someone like James to be a dark nebula in the sky that was Thomas’s universe. He was spread out, subtle colors that all blended together and yet were so boldly different that one would be a fool to claim it was a singular shade. James’s words did not spiral like the storm of Alexander. Instead, they were evenly spaced out, carefully selected instead of thrown together out of whatever came to mind first. Small bursts of flame could be found in his voice, if one looked close enough to see them dotting his thoughts.

“Hello, James,” Thomas replied, not bothering to make conversation- in his opinion, it was far too early in the day for such a thing, but of course, James had other ideas.

“You’re handling the Rostova vs. Kuragin case, right?” James inquired, his tone just the slightest bit too flat to pretend that he was at all invested in this conversation. “I heard it was a fairly big deal in their community. Must be a handful, huh?”

“Actually, I think Hamilton’s working on that one,” Thomas corrected him, idly checking his watch, internally groaning as he saw that it was only a few minutes before work began and they would need to be in their offices- he’d been hoping to corner Hamilton for some answers, but evidently, he would have to save that for another time. “He won’t stop bitching about it whenever I see him. It’s like he has nothing better to do with his time than complain about how hard his work is to someone who has the exact same job.”

“Well it is a rather interesting case, Thomas,” James pointed out, and he took a shaky breath as if he were about to speak more, but was cut off by the opening of the elevator doors and Thomas rushing out of the metal box as quickly as possible without seeming rude.

He stepped into his private office and shut the heavy door behind him, leaning against it and sighing softly in relief as he no longer was obligated to make tedious small talk with his co workers- even if he considered James to be his friend, there was only so much a man could take.

Setting his briefcase down on his desk, he sat down in his chair, turning on the desktop computer and beginning to get to work for the day. He would have to attend a meeting around eleven o’clock, but until then, he was perfectly content to type up reports and prepare for whatever new cases he’d be assigned to after the meeting.

Thomas had just opened a new document to read over, when none other than Alexander Hamilton walked through the door, not bothering to knock as per usual for the short man. Alexander stood in the doorway for a moment before Thomas looked up at him impatiently, and Alex slowly shut the door behind him, his hand moving to lock it, but quickly pulling away and resting at his side.

“Hamilton,” Thomas said quietly, acknowledging his presence in his office. “Thank you so very much for knocking. Is there something you wanted? I swear to god, if this is about your debt plan again-”

 

“It’s not,” Alexander cut him off, his eyes focused on the hardwood floor instead of the man in front of him. “My debt plan has nothing to do with this, but if you wish to speak about that, I am more than willing to send you the necessary papers for you to pledge your support.”

“You won’t need to do that. Even this early in the day I’m not so stupid as to support your plan,” Thomas spat, trying his best to ignore the nagging pains in his heart that this was the Alexander that had drunkenly sent him a love letter the night before, that Alexander felt the same and they were no use in hiding it anymore. “What did you want?”

“I… I didn’t happen to email you anything last night, did I?” Alexander asked nervously biting his lower lip in worry. “Because if I did, I am so sorry, I swear, I had a few too many drinks, and I completely regret telling you all that, and it’ll never happen again, I promise-”

“You sent me a few documents. And while I agree that your corrections did more harm than good, you don’t need to beg for mercy,” Thomas interrupted, looking back down at his work, knowing that if he so much as looked Alexander in the eyes, he would give in to what his heart wanted and ask- no, beg Alexander to be his. “If that’s all, I have work to do, and you most likely do as well, what with the Rostova vs. Kuragin case.”

“I…. That’s all you got from me? Oh thank god…” Alexander murmured, sighing in relief and nodding in confirmation at Thomas, turning around and he had only just put his hand on the doorknob, when Thomas stood up suddenly.

“Wait!” Thomas exclaimed, not at all sure of what exactly he was doing, but why would he care when it felt so damn right? Alexander turned around once more, looking at Thomas with curious eyes, not clouded or stuck with lighting fires- this time, they were the soft rumbling of thunder, mixing into melodic rain pitter-pattering onto the roof of an old building. “I… I was wondering if you’d make good on your promise.”  
“Promise?” Alexander asked, narrowing his eyes in confusion at Thomas’s words. 

“Well…” Thomas began, feeling his breath nearly hitch in his throat as he struggled to get the words out. “You promised that as soon as I read your email, you’d take me out.”

“I… Oh fuck,” Alexander whispered, his eyes widening in fear as he realized what exactly Thomas was talking about. “Jefferson, I didn’t mean to send that, I know that you-”

“Will be picking you up at seven, tonight?” Thomas whispered, just loud enough for Alexander to hear. Alexander stood in front of the door, shocked still, nearly shaking. Thomas felt his heart stop for a second as he realized that it must have all been a joke, that Alexander obviously doesn’t feel the same and he just looks like an idiot right now and-

“Yeah. Seven sounds good,” Alexander said quietly, smiling weakly at Thomas with hope swirling in his eyes instead of stormclouds. Thomas couldn’t do anything but smile back as Alexander opened the door and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Thomas nearly collapsed into his chair in relief, grinning like an idiot. Because maybe the night sky needed more than the moonlight to illuminate the midnight world.

Maybe the starlight could accompany it.


End file.
